Eraser
by Ziggy Sane
Summary: When Obi-Wan returns from investigating the inner workings of an immoral prison located in the backwater of the Republic, he is more affected by his experiences there than he or Qui-Gon imagined.
1. Freed

Rating – R

e-mail – ziggysane@punks.org

Archive – ask, please

Obi-Wan is 19.

**Eraser**

by ziggy sane

_Drip. Drip.  
  
Those voices were back, distant but approaching. What did that mean? They were coming a lot closer. Oh, gods… Screeching rose up around him, clawing out of the black cells and piercing the air; mad cries of insanity that didn't seem to ever want to stop… Why was he here… He didn't want to be here, why was he here? Keeping quiet never helped.  
  
Dirty fingers wrapped around cold steel bars and a ragged voice joined in, hoarse as it was. It was always scratchy these days. Scratchy 'cause they said he was pretty and made him hold still while they…   
  
What did this yelling mean? Was he going mad?  
  
Obi-Wan was cut off abruptly as the lights of his cell snapped on, blinding his sensitive eyes with their fierce brightness. He cried out as his door swung open and two of the green suits came in. He raised his hands to fight them off but knew it was useless. They were bigger than he was. Always bigger. They grew bigger everyday. That's what Danzek was always telling everyone.  
  
_

"Go…go away…"  
  
"Shut your mouth."  
  
Cruel hands grabbed his arms and jerked him to his feet. His legs trembled beneath him and he sagged weakly in the bruising grip but they only pushed him forward, shoving him from behind and when they hit a particularly tender spot on his back he yelped. The sound rung hollow in the long, empty corridor and warranted a sharp cuff to his temple. The blow caused sparks to burst behind his eyes for a moment. He let them drag his dazed form a little further before scrabbling for footing on the filthy stone floor. In the end, though, he couldn't keep up and let them support him the rest of the way. Why should he help them continue with his torture, anyway?  
  
Dulled blue gray eyes miserably watched the door at the end of the hall. That was the one where the worst things happened. Where he seemed to end up much of the time. He shivered in his captor's grasp, his breath hitching some as it did much of the time since he had come here, and he was forced into a painful fit of coughing. What he wouldn't give for some clean water… Stuff here had bugs floating in it.  
  
Bugs're good for you, Danzek always said. Eat'em. Lotsa protein.  
  
"Gods above, he smells."   
  
"Yeah, yeah…" The voices floated to his ears as if from far above. "I think this is… uh…" Fingers roughly grabbed his chin and jerked his face upwards. Obi-Wan stared groggily up into the face of one of the green suits. The face whistled. "Yeah, yeah. This is that pretty one we got a couple months ago." The face sniffed a little, almost proud. "I've had him and all. He's afraid to wash up. Watch this." The face leered down at him. "Hey, hey-a. Kid. Want to get clean? Take a shower? Maybe a nice long bath?"   
  
Obi-Wan's eyes went wide at the implications being made and he shook his head no, quivering lips stumbling over the words he wanted to say. "N…no! Please, no…please…" He was far, far from above begging. He could dimly recall a time when he would fight them off, but it was hardly worth the consequences, now…  
  
"Har-har! Cleef kept taking him while he washed up… While he was in the showers. Funny as anything, the noises this one'd make. C'mon, though. No fucking about. Pity he's going to leave us."   
  


And they went on, dragging Obi-Wan across the floor. What did they mean? He was leaving? Were they going to end his life? Oh, Force, help… It should have mattered more to him but it didn't.  
  
Small cries left him as he was pushed roughly through a doorway He wondered if it was the one at the end of the hall? He had stopped paying attention. Maybe he had dozed? He slept sometimes without meaning to. He could feel ribs grating against one another inside of him.  
  
"He stinks more'n a dead rancor, but this is him. 6872. Go on, kid." A green suit grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head up. Must have dozed again… 

  
 "Hey, hey-a, kid! Get over there!" Obi-Wan's bleary gaze followed the length of one long extended finger to the figure across the room who stood tall… sort of blurry, but…   
  
Another shiver shook his underfed body and he went numb, nausea roiling through him. He sank to the floor and the green suits sighed in irritation, huffed at him, wrenching him back up by the collar of his too thin shirt and dragging him further until a voice halted their movements.  
  
"Stop."  
  
The word registered in Obi-Wan's mind sluggishly, as if coming to him through mud. The tight grip the green suits had on him let go suddenly, letting him slump back down to the cold and dirty tile.  
  
A man came into view then, familiar and concerned, and gentle hands whispered over the bruises on Obi-Wan's face, trailing lightly down his neck to his exposed collarbone, puffy from some unnamed harm.  
  
The man was clean and smelled nice and when he touched Obi-Wan with soothing fingers, smoothing his hair back away from his face, it was because he wanted to help, the boy knew that much, at least. The man smiled at him, so softly and so honestly that Obi-Wan wanted to cry and the man's teeth were white and not yellow or missing like the green suits' were…  
  
Another shiver and he opened his mouth, "Oh... Qui-Gon," his voice a hollow croak and so damaged sounding he wondered if he would be understood at all.  
  
But the man smiled again, placing a warm palm on his cheek and Obi-Wan turned his face to the contact, needing it more than he even needed to get out of that place.


	2. Coiled

**Eraser: Coiled**

Qui-Gon realized he hadn't known the half of what his Padawan had gotten into when he was greeted by the Asheton Prison's warden, Belfus Nuben. The man seemed to be caught completely unaware by even the most basic of inquiries. He was nervous and reluctant to speak with Qui-Gon, staying only long enough to direct the Jedi to the room Obi-Wan would sign out in.

Once there he had only to wait a few moments while the sentries collected his Padawan. When he finally saw the boy be dragged in, guttural cries of obvious pain and all, his heart sank. He hoped it looked worse than it really was. The two men were not being gentle, and Qui-Gon finally bid them to stop their rough movements, crouching down over his apprentice and attempting to quell that sick fear he felt thickening the air.

For one frightening moment he wondered if the damage was somehow so extensive that Obi-Wan could not even register his presence, but when the boy's features eased into such relief he knew that couldn't be true. Still, bad, bad things had happened.

The process of getting Obi-Wan released was simple but took longer than Qui-Gon would have liked. The boy appeared exhausted and Qui-Gon finally had to request a chair be brought in so that he could sit. He didn't like the way his Padawan sat so rigidly, tensed, even, in the seat. Obi-Wan's booted feet swung back and curled around the legs of the chair somewhat childishly. Qui-Gon also didn't like the way his gaze was ignored – avoided. He nudged gently at their bond and was surprised to find its light dimmed even in this proximity.

Questions were asked, their dull, near inaudible responses recorded on an old datapad as well as a camera set up some few meters away. More than once Obi-Wan was asked to speak more clearly, to please face the camera.

One question in particular gave Qui-Gon cause to hold his breath… _Do you agree that all actions experienced in the facility were warranted and with good cause? Please keep in mind that if you do not agree a complaint can be made..._

A pause had followed the question. Qui-Gon watched his Padawan carefully, picking apart every facial twitch, tic, or movement, analyzing the silence and anticipating a long report of wrongdoings as a reply. He half expected the boy to break out of this trance he seemed to be so caught up in; break out of it and settle into his old self, giving the cruel eyed men standing opposite the shock of their lives. That's exactly what he would do… Only later did Qui-Gon admit to himself that it was more hope than expectation.

Obi-Wan quietly cleared his throat. Dim blue-gray eyes flickered upwards to the three men waiting for an answer, lingering on one, then moving to the camera, and finally back down to his lap. Both hands gripped the sides of his chair tightly. "I agree…" came the soft, almost tentative, words.

Qui-Gon decided then that most likely his Padawan only wanted to leave as soon as possible. It wasn't necessary, of course, to hear his report, now. And surely the master couldn't expect it to be ready so soon. Obi-Wan would need time and rest. Then, once they returned to Coruscant, he could meet with the council and they would forward his words on to the law's higher authorities. It would soon be over and he and his apprentice could request time off for sabbatical.

---------------

"Sit here, Padawan. I'll come right back."

Obi-Wan watched his master leave the small resting compartment and sighed quietly. Qui-Gon had wrapped him in a heavy blanket upon entering the small cruiser but still the youth trembled finely beneath it. He sniffed some and rubbed a wrist across his runny nose, hunkering down in the fabric and waiting for his master to return. The blanket's weave was thick and coarse but as it scraped roughly against his cheek he felt warmed, somehow comforted.

He felt the engines rumble awake from their dormant state and quickly lied down, settling himself and gripping the single rung located just above the cot so he would not be jostled too badly during takeoff. He felt a little queasy as the craft moved, fighting against wind and gravity to break through the planet's atmosphere until it reached the relative stableness of space.

Obi-Wan waited in silence for Qui-Gon to return, staring numbly up at the low ceiling and absently rubbing his thumb over the tattered edge of the blanket. He was fine, now. He was with Qui-Gon, putting more space between him and that place by the second. He was going to _be fine._

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon had to duck his head as he stepped into the quarters, "I apologize for that. Our pilot wanted to leave as soon as we boarded, I forgot to warn you…" In his arms he held a pile of fresh clothing and on top of that a tray of bread and fruit slices. "I'm sure you're very hungry but this is really all we have… Would you like to shower before you eat?" Qui-Gon fingered a lock of greasy ginger hair, missing the shudder that passed over the boy.

"I…I'd rather just eat – if you don't mind…" Obi-Wan said as he took the tray from Qui-Gon's hands and put it down in his lap, slowly picking through the wet fruit slices and putting them in his mouth. Two of his teeth hurt and he chewed carefully around them, hoping not to irritate the spots too badly. The fruit was crisp and fresh, the bread warm.

"You've lost a lot of weight," Qui-Gon observed out loud, leaning back against the far wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

Obi-Wan glanced up at his master fleetingly, munching loudly on some crackers he had found hidden beneath the bread, and returned his focus to the tray balanced on his thighs. "Yeah…" he conceded, shoulders shrugging a little.

"What did they feed you in there?"

"Um…" Obi-Wan went still, mind grazing back to dull, sparse meals served almost daily – if not erratically – in the prison. He cleared his throat, the same soft sound Qui-Gon had heard throughout the process of signing the youth out, and said, "Just some, uh, gray mush. No flavor, really." He had vomited it back up many times at first, images of roaches, some still twitching in the sticky mess he had created vivid in his mind. Soon, though, he had learned to become numb to its taste. Taste didn't matter in such circumstances. He offered his master a wan smile before turning back to his meal.

Qui-Gon said nothing for a time, content to watch the boy pick through his food. Finally, though, he had to know:

"Was it terrible, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan paused, his gaze moving just past the rim of his tray as he stared hard down at the floor. _Was it terrible...?_

"You just seem – very quiet," the master admitted, pushing away from the wall and crouching down before the youth, searching the evasive gaze. "And you're unwell, that much is obvious," he added, chuckling shortly even as he adjusted the blanket around the boy's shoulders. "I'm sure rest will fix that, though. During the interview in there you appeared… I don't know –"

"I'm well enough to give the report, Master," Obi-Wan said suddenly, voice wobbling only just. "If that's what you're worried about – don't be." His blue gray eyes were now focused somewhat intensely on the older man, pleading to let the subject be dropped.

Qui-Gon must have sensed this as he nodded his head in agreement, rising from his position. "Of course, Obi-Wan. You do have time to rest – there's more than a day's travel to Coruscant. You can sleep on the ship and write the report once we return. I expect the council will want to see us soon after."

"Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan mumbled, not feeling hungry anymore. He moved to put the tray aside but Qui-Gon took it from him.

"I'll take of this for you… Go spend some time in the fresher, Padawan. Shower and rest. I'd say it's the least you deserve after so long away."

--------------

Obi-Wan had to admit that it did feel nice being clean, although the shower had stressed him more than he would have liked. He had spent the whole time rigid, muscles stiff, straining his ears against every noise that may have filtered past the jets of hot water. It had been learning by repetition in that place, by trial and error, by habit. Make a mistake and be punished. Do nothing and be punished. Try as he might he couldn't shake the feeling that any second someone could burst through that door and hurt him again.

He had been humiliated almost daily, in so many ways. At first it had been awful, shameful, and his sense of self had been strained to nearly breaking at the temptation to just fight back. He was a Jedi! He could make it. He could fight them off. But that would have given it all away if not made things worse. The place was a prison – as much as its captives were forced to adapt to its walls it could adapt to the beings within. Obi-Wan had seen the special cells created for the more powerful beings – wookiees and the long limbed satchmores. He had at one point been put on the labor line of prisoners who helped form the chains that could hold them.

Once out of the shower he quickly pulled on the clothing Qui-Gon had brought him – an old shirt well worn and a loose pair of leggings he could easily sleep in. He quietly found his way back to the quarters Qui-Gon had brought him to earlier, the steel floor of the ship cool against his bare feet. Stepping inside he tugged back the bed sheets, one corner of which was already pulled back in invitation – that must have been Qui-Gon's doing. His master didn't seem to realize just how bad the prison had been.

Obi-Wan decided to keep the lights only dim enough to be easy on his eyes, not yet wanting to be relinquished to complete darkness again so soon. He climbed into the cot, the blankets cool on his body but warming.

His master had suggested the entire mission to the council. It was his idea. Obi-Wan had been delighted with the amount of confidence Qui-Gon had in him. A whole mission – on his own! The very idea was exciting: going undercover, being away from the temple for so long without even his master, living by his own judgment… Just like being a knight.

Well, if being a knight had always entailed being violated, humiliated, and beaten than perhaps he would have done more good at AgriCorps.

Obi-Wan shivered under the blanket. His face was flushed with a fever, he had seen that in the 'fresher's mirror. His bones ached. There was too much on his mind – that was the problem. He wished there was a way he could just empty it long enough to let him rest…

When his master knocked on his door Obi-Wan didn't answer, shutting his eyes and schooling his features into what he hoped was peaceful relaxation. His grip on the light side had become so tenuous in there that he had been afraid to call on the Force at all…

"Obi-Wan?" his master whispered, the door now open.

Obi-Wan didn't respond. It wasn't that he blamed his master – Qui-Gon couldn't have known. _He couldn't have known. He remained still as his master pulled the blankets back, pushing Obi-Wan's shirt up and placing cool hands on his aching abdomen. It was entirely plausible that his master knew he was faking but Obi-Wan didn't care. He didn't want to talk about it, he just wanted to sleep and maybe feel someone touching him without the intention to hurt; to convince himself that such a thing was possible._

He ended up sinking into a deep slumber, his master humming quietly, healing hands skittering lightly over Obi-Wan's flesh and gently smoothing bandages over his wounds, fixing what he could while he could.


End file.
